


even if it's just in your wildest dreams

by dwoht



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: F/F, canon-divergent, roaaaaaaad trip!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwoht/pseuds/dwoht
Summary: Eventually, curiosity gets the better of her, and she asks, “Where are we going?Aster’s eyes twinkle, like she has a secret only for the two of them, and Ellie thinks she might say something like, ‘It’s a surprise,’ but with a nibble on her lower lip, and a bout of insecurity, she hesitantly asks, “How far are you willing to go?”
Relationships: Ellie Chu/Aster Flores
Comments: 13
Kudos: 178





	even if it's just in your wildest dreams

**Author's Note:**

> heyy everyone!! i couldn't stop thinking about how perfectly the first verse of the song 'wildest dreams' fit the shots of them driving to the hot springs, and thus, this fic was born. canon-divergent. i hope you enjoy!

_she said, “let’s get out of this town /  
_ _and drive out of the city, away from the crowds” /_  
_i thought, ‘heaven can’t help me now. nothing lasts forever.’ /  
_ _but this is getting good now_

**_______________ **

“Do you wanna… get out of here?” Aster suggests. Her hands are tucked neatly into her jacket, and she shrugs her shoulders a little. 

Ellie doesn’t remember explicitly replying, but she figures she must, because she finds herself seated shotgun in Aster’s little yellow car. It’s cute, small, old, lived in. There’s a packet of gum in the center console, headphones on the floor, and the backseat holds both a stereo and a backpack.

It’s very Aster.

Ellie isn’t sure how long they drive, but the winding roads of Washington smile up at them as they go, and with the window down, it’s surprisingly nice. Instead of matching her breaths to the cyclical worry in her head, she paces them with the whistle of the wind.

She can almost forget about the way her heart is beating out of her chest. She wonders if Aster can actually hear it, and tells her heart to chill.

It doesn’t listen.

Aster drives quietly, with both hands on the wheel, and the radio playing softly in the background. Her eyes flit from Ellie, to the rear view mirror, to the road, and back again every few seconds, but her posture is relaxed. More relaxed than Ellie has ever seen her, she realizes.

Her right hand reaches out deftly to turn the radio up, and Aster begins to hum along to a song Ellie doesn’t recognize.

_I’ve been longing for daisies to push through the floor / and I wish plant life would grow all around me / so I won’t feel dead anymore._

“That’s kind of a depressing song,” Ellie observes.

Aster just laughs, a light chuckle that carries easily into the music. “It’s optimistic.”

“What’s it even about?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Aster says. “I think that’s the best part. It could be about anything.”

_I’d rather waltz than just walk through the forest / the trees keep the tempo, and they sway in time / quartet of crickets chime in for the chorus / if I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine?_

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of her, and she asks, “Where are we going?

Aster’s eyes twinkle, like she has a secret only for the two of them, and Ellie thinks she might say something like, ‘It’s a surprise,’ but with a nibble on her lower lip, and a bout of insecurity, she asks, “How far are you willing to go?”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “Where were you thinking?”

“It’s kind of. . . not close,” Aster warns. Her lower lip is still tucked between her teeth.

“Just tell me,” Ellie says.

“You can say no —“

“— Aster.”

She seems surprised at the mention of her own name, and tries for a shrug and a smile. “San Francisco?”

“San Francisco,” Ellie repeats.

“It’s a super cool city,” Aster says, staring straight ahead.

“It’s in California,” Ellie states, wondering if she’s just been kidnapped.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Aster reassures her.

“I never said _that,_ ” Ellie supposes, which is ridiculous, because she can’t just go to _California_ , right _now_. Right?

“Well, we should decide soon,” Aster says. Her words are laced with a hint of hopefulness.

“How long does it take to drive there?” Ellie says, though she already knows.

“Like, a day,” Aster says. Ellie doesn’t say anything. She sighs, shifting in her seat. “I know it’s far, I figured it wasn’t realistic or anything. I just, God, I really don’t want to be in Squahamish right now.”

“What about your dad?” Ellie asks. Aster just shrugs.“Money?”

“I have some,” is all Aster says.

_‘Some’ as in, two dollars, or ‘some’ as in, two-hundred-thousand,_ Ellie wants to ask. She doesn’t, though, because Aster has more than enough common sense, and wouldn’t be driving them across the coast with no plan.

She also knows that if she questions Aster anymore, she’s going to change her mind, and as soon as Ellie starts to think about _not_ going, she finds that she actually really wants to do it. So she tries to deep breathe through all the questions she can’t push away.

She wants to ask if they’re going to stop, because surely Aster can’t drive for that many hours straight, and Ellie can’t drive at all. She wants to ask how much money exactly Aster has. She wants to ask how long they’d stay. She wants to ask about the fact that neither of them packed anything.

She wants to, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she nods slightly, and says, “Okay, sure.”

“Really?” Aster looks surprised, and it might be insulting if Ellie herself wasn’t so surprised as well.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, smiling a little. She pauses. “Lemme just text my dad.”

Aster nods, a newfound relief settling into her lips as she sets her gaze back on the road. She turns the radio up even higher, and continues humming along.

_Tonight I’m busting out of this old haunted house / ‘cause I’m sick of waiting for all these spiderwebs to grow all around me / ‘cause I don’t feel dead anymore / and I’m not afraid anymore._

“So, what’s in San Francisco?” Ellie asks.

Aster takes in a deep breath, and holds it for a few seconds before exhaling. She’s smiling, but her eyebrows are furrowed with a sense of disappointment. “What’s in San Francisco, you ask?” Ellie nods. She shrugs. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Ellie asks.

Aster offers her a tentative glance. “It’s my great painting.”

Ellie freezes. She’s not supposed to know what that means, and she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to _say_ , and half of her is thinking her ridiculous attempt at nonchalance while she’s busy losing her mind has given herself anyway. “Um.”

“Never mind.” Aster shakes her head, returning her attention to the music. 

_If I were to pluck on your heartstrings, would you strum on mine? /_

“You’re right,” Ellie says, eventually. “The song _is_ optimistic.”

After about thirty minutes going vaguely north, Ellie manages to bother Aster into actually putting in directions. She can’t help but note how Aster programs her phone to take them to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, but doesn’t mention it.

The whole drive is actually going to take a little over eleven hours, which Aster says is no problem, and that she’s done it several times before. Ellie has a lot of questions about that, but she resigns herself to sitting back, watching the road, and listening to the radio. 

She figures she could learn a thing or two about the effortless spontaneity that is Aster Flores.

They don’t talk much. In fact, Ellie can count on both hands how many sentences they actually say to each other, and most involve something along the lines of, “I’m thirsty,” or “I need to pee.”

She still learns a lot about Aster, though.

She learns Aster drives with two hands on windy roads, but settles with her left on the bottom of the wheel when everything straightens out. Her right hand finds it’s way from her thigh to the gear shift in the center console, and back to her thigh again, like it doesn’t know where to land.  Ellie would reach out and hold it, if she had that kind of boldness in her.

She learns Aster really likes Taylor Swift, and has a pretty much pitch perfect tone when she sings along. There’s no grandiose vibrato, nor any technicality to her singing, but there’s a sweetness to it, and an art in the way her tongue flows over the lyrics like she wrote them herself.

She learns that when Aster says, “I have to pee if you have to pee,” she means that she _really_ has to pee, but doesn’t want to inconvenience Ellie.

When they stop at Walgreens to get some toiletries, she learns that Aster is absolutely appalled by the fact that Ellie brushes her teeth with flavorless toothpaste.

She learns that Aster really does not get sleepy, and if she does, she doesn’t show it.

She learns that Aster watches her when she thinks Ellie isn’t looking, because as she’s drifting off with her head against the glass, she can feel Aster’s gaze burning holes into her heart.

She learns that Aster’s favorite candy is Sour Patch Kids, but she doesn’t eat the orange ones, and she doesn’t chew them, she just lets them sit in her mouth to dissolve. It’s kind of weird. It’s also kind of cute. 

She learns that Aster is just so _soft_.

Not to the touch, or anything, though Ellie is pretty sure that’s true too, but just the way she is.

Her eyes when she looks over at Ellie, and wiggles her eyebrows like there’s a secret just for the two of them. Her cheeks, as they warm under the sunset. Her smile, as exhales, and leans back ever so slightly to enjoy her favorite part of a song. Her lips, as they curl into a smile, and hum to lyrics about love and fairytales, and all the things Ellie has only dreamed about.

She turns her head away, facing forward again, because she can’t let her brain start thinking about all the things her heart already knows. Aster likes Paul. Or, she thinks she does. Ellie isn’t going to be the one to change that.

“You okay?” Aster asks.

Ellie nods. “Yeah, just…”

“Nervous?” Aster offers. Ellie nods again. _Sure._ “Don’t be. You’re going to love it.”

And she’s sure she will. After all, Aster is going to be there.

They pull into San Francisco around eleven that night, and Ellie can’t stop looking at _everything_. 

The city is so busy, so alive, so much different than the sleepy town of Squahmish. There’s a band playing music out of a guitar and a bucket with two drum sticks on the corner of the street light, and the lights of the MOMA send sparks out of Aster’s smile as they pass by. 

Aster takes them to a little side street that looks completely residential, and parks along the side.

“Where are we?” Ellie asks, suddenly back to the concerned self she usually is. 

“Trust,” is all Aster says. Ellie rolls her eyes. She follows her out of the car and down the street, though, and watches as Aster digs around in the front porch of some random apartment. Eventually, she finds what she’s looking for, and holds up a key.

“Oh, my God,” Ellie demands. “Are you breaking in?”

“Are you crazy?” Aster laughs, pushing open the door. 

“That’s not an answer,” Ellie mumbles as Aster leads them inside.

“It’s my cousin’s place,” Aster says. Ellie pauses. “I grew up in Sacramento, which is only, like, a couple hours from here. I have family all over.”

“Interesting,” Ellie says. “Is your cousin. . . here?”

“No, she’s in Southern California for the week,” Aster says. Ellie’s heart soars with the idea that maybe Aster actually planned this, but the idea is ridiculous, and she refuses to let herself entertain her heart’s outrageous desires anymore.

They have a way-too-long fight over who gets the bed, and who gets the couch, which Ellie wins because, if she’s being honest, it’s way less weird for Aster to sleep in her cousin’s bed than for her to do so.

She isn’t sure how, but Ellie manages to calm her nerves enough to actually get tired, and her eyelids flutter closed with an excited exhaustion that’s been building all day. 

Ellie wakes with the sunrise, as always, which is a surprisingly tough habit to break. Aster is still asleep, so Ellie passes the time with making sure her father knows she’s okay, and browsing the online area for things to do. She has half a mind to go out and explore, but she knows Aster would lose it if she woke up and Ellie was missing. 

She’s scrolling through pictures of the MOMA, when Aster shuffles into the living room. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Ellie says, trying to look anywhere except for Aster’s… well, all of her. 

Aster is dressed in sweatpants and a sports bra, which is much too much for Ellie to handle, and which Aster doesn’t even notice. She rubs some sleep from her eyes, and wanders into the kitchen, cursing the empty fridge. “What time is it?”

“Like, nine,” Ellie says.

“Oh, good,” Aster says. “I didn’t want to sleep too long, miss the day.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellie says, waving her off. “What’s on your agenda?”

Aster shrugs. “I don’t know. I would love to see the Museum of Modern Art, but I don’t know if you’re into that.”

“I’d love to,” Ellie assures her.

It turns out watching Aster look at art is just as rewarding as looking at the art itself. Ellie starts to wonder if they’re one and the same.

Aster’s eyebrows furrow when she’s confused about something, and she taps her index finger on her nose while examining the painting again. She doesn’t speak her thoughts out loud, but her head tilts with the swirls of the paint.

When she loves something, her eyes just light up. Her lips move silently as she reads the card next to the painting, and just stands there, eyes wide open, hands at her sides, as she devours the art like it’s the last thing she may ever look at.

She doesn’t do much talking, but her face is an open book anyway.

They disagree about one painting, though. The background is a swirl of black and dark greys, and two figures stand on opposite ends of a sort of road, walking towards each other. Halfway in between the road, there’s a crack. A split.

“That’s sad,” Ellie says. 

“I think it’s hopeful,” Aster says.

Ellie blinks. “They’re walking towards each other, but they don’t even know they’ll never make it.”

“You don’t know that,” Aster counters. “Maybe one of them is really good at jumping.”

“Right,” Ellie says.

Aster just stares, eyebrows furrowed. “If the only love that’s allowed to prevail is the love that’s easy, how is that fair to the rest of us?”

“I suppose so,” Ellie agrees.

“It’s just a crack,” Aster says.

“It’s just a crack,” Ellie echoes.

They find themselves at a little cafe down the street, and Ellie suddenly realizes this is the first time she’s ever had a meal with Aster. It’s a strange feeling to know they’ve driven across the coast together, but Ellie doesn’t even know what kind of food she likes it eat.

An employee walks up to their table, asking if they’re ready to order, and Aster says something about a few more minutes, but Ellie can’t breathe, much less speak, because the waitress’ apron has a button on it.

Well, it has a lot, including a little pink one that says, _#I Stand With Planned Parenthood_ , a metal enamel pin with a golden retriever, and a third round button with a coffee cup on it.

The fourth is large and round. It’s black with a silhouette of the state of California, and the state is overlaid with stripes of rainbow. It’s a pride flag. Of course it is. She’s so busy staring at it, she barely hears the waitress ask again, and when she finally looks up, she just hopes the poor girl doesn’t think she’s staring with some awful homophobic intent.

The waitress gives her a soft smile, and Ellie sighs a breath filled with both relief and a newfound nervousness, because she knows she knows.

“Sorry, I’m not sure yet,” she says. Her gaze averts back to the menu. “About the food.”

The waitress nods slightly. “Understandable. Take all the time you need.”

Ellie suddenly realizes she doesn’t need to take anymore time because she _is_ sure. Sure about Aster, at least. It’s the first time she’s ever allowed herself to think about what she wants so unabashedly. She almost wishes she hadn’t, because she can’t ever go back from this.

When it was an unspoken in the back of her mind, it was easier to ignore. She’d think, _Maybe I just really want to be her friend. Maybe I constantly think about how she looks because I’m happy for Paul_ , as if that totally isn’t weird. 

Aster looks up at her, but her smile is hesitant, and Ellie tries to immediately rid herself of the weird vibes she must be giving off. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah definitely,” Ellie says, shaking her head as if to shake off her troubles.

“Having fun?” Aster asks cautiously. Ellie nods. She smiles. “I love this city.”

“You should move here,” Ellie says. Aster looks at her like she’s crazy. “What?”

“I don’t think it’s. . . likely,” she struggles through.

“Why not?” Ellie challenges.

Aster shrugs. “Because I’m me, and my parents are my parents, and my life is what it is.” Ellie doesn’t say anything. “I’m marrying Trig.”

She doesn’t really try all that hard, so Ellie can’t be too shocked when Aster rolls her eyes at the double-take Ellie does. “Oh. Um. When?”

“Probably this summer,” Aster says. She frowns a little. “I mean, I guess.”

“I don’t think you have to?” Ellie tries.

Aster looks like she wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Instead, she raises her eyebrows. “I overheard him and my dad talking about it. The wedding, I mean. He hasn’t even asked me, he’s just so sure. And isn’t that what love is about? Being sure about someone?”

“Just because he’s sure about you doesn’t mean _you’re_ sure about _him_ ,” Ellie says, tilting her head to one side. It’s a challenge. If Aster is the girl she thinks she is, she’ll take it. And she does.

“That’s not fair,” Aster says, shaking her head. “My own. . . issues aren’t his fault."

“They’re not yours either,” Ellie says.

“Whose are they, then?” Aster says, almost looking angry. 

Ellie shrugs. “God’s?”

Aster looks absolutely scandalized. “God’s,” she repeats. Ellie lifts her shoulders again, dropping them heavily. “You better not tell my father you said that."

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Ellie says.

Aster furrows her eyebrows. “You’re kind of an asshole, huh?”

“I guess so,” Ellie says, and it’s almost amusing.

“It suits you,” Aster says. Her eyes widen when Ellie opens her mouth to reply, and she quickly adds, “That was a compliment. It’s very. . . admirable. I could never be that bold.”

“What’s the point of life, if not to be bold?” Ellie says carefully. Aster looks like she’s hanging onto every word. “You could play it safe, and have an okay life, or you could live freely and have a great one.”

Ellie isn’t really sure what’s happening next. Her palms are sweating, her heart rate is increasing at an alarming rate, and she’s trying her best to look nonchalant without making it seem out of the ordinary. Aster is eyeing her as if she’s one of those confusing art pieces in the MOMA, and Ellie squirms under her strict gaze.

Then Aster nods. A short, single nod. “Huh.”

And that’s the end of it.

The rest of the day is barely even a reality. Ellie feels like she’s in a dream the whole time, which would be annoying, but she’s actually sort of grateful for. She knows if she were totally present, she’d start freaking out and do something dumb. 

They walk around the city, window shopping and looking at little souvenirs that neither are actually going to buy. They talk about books, and art, and movies, and all the things Ellie has been trying to say in Paul’s letters, but couldn’t without incriminating herself.

They buy ice cream from a small gelato shop, and eat it while looking at the murals in the Mission District, which are loud, and daring, and political, and noisy, and all the things that Squahamish could never even imagine.

Ellie’s starting to see the appeal of the city.

There’s posters everywhere, papers stapled to electricity line posts, and taped to shop windows, and being handed out on every corner. Some advertise a band, some a new restaurant opening, others an art exhibit, and one is a Pride parade.

“It’s gonna be our biggest yet,” the girl says proudly. She waves a piece of paper at them until Aster takes it hesitantly. “My girlfriend is helping organize it, and she said there’s gonna be a shit ton of cool people walking in it this year.”

“We’re not local, sorry,” Aster says. She goes to hand the paper back, but the girl just shrugs. 

“It’s cool. Keep it. Maybe next year,” she says. 

And then they’re walking, and the air is tense, though Ellie can’t figure out why, and Aster has shoved her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket, with her eyes trained on the ground.

“So, what does your father think about Pride?” she asks. It’s supposed to be a joke, or something, which is fucking stupid if she thinks about it, and Aster’s shoulders just slump even more. 

“I think you know,” she says quietly. 

“And what do _you_ think?” Ellie says cautiously. 

Aster turns, looking straight into her eyes. Her jaw clenches, and there’s a mix of taunting, fear, anger, and sadness when she repeats, more firmly than before, “I think you know.”

Her tone is harsh, almost like she's baiting Ellie into _something_ , but it trails off into something like despair. _I think you know_.  The thing is, Ellie really doesn’t, and if she was confused before, she has no idea what’s going on now.

On the one hand, Aster is just about the least interested person in boys Ellie has ever met, aside from maybe herself. The only thing Aster seems to think is even remotely cool thing Paul is all the shit _Ellie_ has been saying the whole time.

Aster is also fucking obsessed with San Francisco, which Ellie has come to realize is quite possibly the gayest city ever. Aster looks at the winding streets like she’s begging it for something, and she talks about it like it’s her own Heaven on Earth.

On the other hand, Aster is the most Christian girl she’s ever met. Her father is the town’s paster, for God’s sake. Ellie thinks she, too, might dream of the freedom of a big city like San Francisco if she were in Aster’s shoes, and she was destined to marry some boy from high school. Maybe her issue isn't that Trig is a boy, but that he's Trig. It's understandable.

Ellie is just really fucking confused.

Aster doesn’t let her dwell on it too much, though, and pulls her into a bookshop at the corner, saying something about limited edition books. The moment passes, and Ellie suddenly feels stupid for thinking about it at all.

They eat hotdogs from a stand on Pier 39, and watch the sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge. The air is chilly, but basking under the warmth of Aster’s smile, Ellie isn’t cold at all.

Aster’s shoulder brushes hers gently. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thanks for asking me,” Ellie says softly.

And then they’re back at the apartment. Somehow, they find themselves in Aster’s cousin’s bed, perched carefully on either side of the mattress.

Aster is reading aloud from a book of poems, and while Ellie is just as non-religious as ever, she marvels at the way the words twist around her tongue like a prayer. 

She leans back, scooting herself ever so slightly down the bed until she’s resting on her back. If she’s being honest, she’s absolutely exhausted, and she can’t believe Aster is just sitting there, reading with a meticulously steady flow.

Ellie falls asleep sometime in between the fourth poem, and the twentieth. She isn’t exactly sure which, because she weaves in and out of consciousness for a good while, before finally succumbing. Aster must notice, but she just keeps reading.

She wakes just enough when Aster claps the book closed, and tries to pretend like she totally wasn’t napping through the whole thing. She rolls over, suddenly about a foot away from Aster, and tries to hide the way her breath catches.

“I had fun,” she says softly.

Aster blinks into a slow, sleepy smile. “Me too.”

“I bet they have a great art school here,” Ellie muses.

Aster furrows her eyebrows. “How’d you know I like art?”

“Um, you asked to go to the MOMA,” Ellie laughs nervously. 

Aster is sleepy enough for it to believable, and she nods. Her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds, but then she blinks them open. “I’ve been looking into them, actually.”

“But?” Ellie prompts. 

Aster yawns. “But a lot of things. I don’t know. What about you? What do you want to do?”

“I think I want to be a writer,” Ellie says.

“What, English essays?” Aster laughs. She blushes when she says it, though Ellie can’t figure out exactly why. 

She cracks a smile. “No, novels. Like my mom.”

“Your mom,” Aster says sleepily. “You don’t talk about her much.”

“No,” Ellie agrees, “and, you know, you and _I_ have only really ever talked today.”

Aster blinks, and a smile spreads over her lips. “I guess that’s true. It kind of feels like I’ve known you a while.”

When Aster smiles, it’s like the whole world smiles with her. Even in the moonlight, the room has warmed up, and Ellie feels it push through her chest, into the tips of her toes, and up into her own lips. “Yeah, well, now is a good as any time to meet. I’m glad you started talking to Paul.”

Aster’s smile fades, and the room is cold when she says, “Oh, right.” Her eyes burn with something Ellie can only name as longing, and she inhale is heartbroken as she breathes, “I really want to live here.”

“You can,” Ellie says. Her throat catches on something far too close to a confession, so she swallows it down, and instead asks, “So, what’s so good about San Francisco, anyway? Why this city?”

“It’s perfect,” Aster sighs. “You can be anything. Any _one_. You can do whatever you want. You can love whoever you want.”

Ellie arches one eyebrow. “It sounds like a dream.”

“It could be,” Aster says. Her eyes flicker closed, and her breath is warm as it brushes just the tip of Ellie’s nose.

“Would’ve thought you’d be a New York City girl,” Ellie muses.

Aster chuckles a heavy laugh that comes from her chest, and her eyes are still closed as she slurs through, “Mm nice try.”

This is the time when she should excuse herself to go to the couch, but the bed is so comfortable, and so warm, and she’s so sleepy, and Ellie can’t bring herself to tear herself away from the moment, so she closes her own eyes, and lets herself drift off. 

It’s still dark when Ellie blinks her eyes open for the first time. She looks around, and sees Aster still next to her, illuminated in the caress of the moonlight that pushes its way past a crack in the curtains. Aster is curled up with the book squeezed against her chest.  She sleeps soundly, but her eyebrows are furrowed, and her hand reaches out halfway across the bed. Ellie leans over to lift the book out of her grip, but the fear of Aster waking up is far too much, and she retracts her arm. Instead, she turns over and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, Aster is gone.

Ellie almost thinks she went out to sleep on the couch, which would be ridiculous, but she’s just making coffee when Ellie steps out into the living room. Aster brightens. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” Ellie says.

“We should get going soon,” Aster says. Ellie isn’t sure if it’s her stupid hopeful mind, but she almost swears she hears a trace of disappointment in Aster’s voice. “We have a long drive today.”

“Oh, of course,” Ellie says. 

The drive itself is much like the drive there, only this time, there’s an air of casualty that wasn’t there the first time. Aster sings along to the radio, instead of just humming, and she says Ellie’s name so casually it sends a spike of adrenaline rushing through her every time it happens. 

Ellie runs into the gas station for snacks while Aster uses the bathroom, and returns with Sour Patch Kids for Aster, promising she’ll eat the orange ones for her. 

“You remembered,” Aster says. Ellie shrugs, though her cheeks heat up, and she looks away. “Thank you, Ellie.”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbles.

Aster lets her not-so-subtle dismissal end the conversation, but in the corner of her eye, she sees a smile spread across her lips as she turns up the radio. 

Aster is just so _good_ , and if Ellie felt bad about what she's been doing, she just feels even guiltier now. It isn't fair. Not to her, not to Paul, and not to Ellie. She spends the entire drive bouncing on the edge of her seat, but if Aster notices her agitation, she doesn't say anything.

Ellie means to come up with some kind of eloquent speech, but before she knows it, she blinks, and suddenly they're cruising past the the ‘Entering Squahamish’ sign. She feels like she might burst if she doesn’t get everything out in the open before they pull up to her house, and she knows if she lets herself slide out of Aster’s car without saying anything, she never will.

“San Francisco isn’t your great painting,” Ellie says suddenly.

“Oh?” Aster says. Her tone is level, but she’s gripping the steering wheel like she’s clinging to her last shred of denial. She turns the radio down ever so slightly, but Ellie can still make out the lyrics.

_Put your lips close to mine / as long as they don’t touch /_

“You’re your own great painting,” Ellie says. “You’re all you need. You know that, right?”

_Out of focus eye to eye / ‘til the gravity’s too much /_

“I guess,” Aster says. The air is heavy, and Ellie’s about to chicken out, but Aster looks like she’s all but begging Ellie to keep going, so she does. 

_And I’ll do anything you say if you say it with your hands /_

“It’s true,” Ellie says. A pause. Then, “San Francisco may not be your great painting, but it can be your bold stroke.”

_And I’d be smart to walk away /_

And she knows that she knows.

_But you’re quicksand /_

Aster sucks in a breath. It’s too quite for Ellie to really hear it, but it rips all the air out of the car anyway, and Ellie’s wondering whether she should take it back, though she’s not sure how, when Aster exhales into a slow, excruciatingly knowing nod. “ _You_.”

_This slope is treacherous / this path is reckless / this daydream is dangerous /_

Ellie nods. “Yeah.” Aster doesn’t say anything. “Are you mad?”

“Yes.”

It’s a stupid question, and Ellie can hardly allow herself to be disappointed when the whole thing is her damn fault, but it hits her like a punch to the gut anyway, and she thinks she might be sick. She swallows down every apology and every excuse sitting ready at the back of her throat because she knows it wouldn’t help. 

_This slope is treacherous /_

Still, she can’t help herself from asking, “Are you disappointed?”

Aster softens. Her hands are still so tense it looks like it hurts, and her lower lip is quivering with a hard set to her jaw, but her eyes drop, as if she’s just so _tired_ , and she spares Ellie half a glance when she says, “No.”

_And I like it /_

Aster flicks off the radio. 

It’s quiet. Too quiet. Not the silence of the long hours on the road that were easily filled with jokes here and there, the hum of the radio, and the blissful harmonization of their heartbeats. This quiet is so loud it hurts Ellie’s ears. This quiet sounds a lot like the beginning of the end.

But then Aster takes a deep breath. “I guess I kind of knew, on some level. And, for what it’s worth, it’s not like I didn’t consider it,” she says quietly. “If we were different. Or if _I_ was different.”

Ellie wants to say something kind of asshole-ish, like, _You could never be different_ , but she just can’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she offers, “You _can_ be.”

“You really think so,” Aster says. It isn’t a question, just an awestruck statement. Ellie nods, and offers a smile. Aster doesn’t return it, but her jaw unclenches, and her shoulders relax slightly.

The rest of the drive is silent. 

Ellie’s stuck halfway between terrified and hopeful, which is almost comfortingly strange. She’s never felt that way before. Aster doesn’t speak, and Ellie doesn’t attempt to coax anything out of her, but as the sun drops behind the horizon, her thoughts can’t stop echoing the breathless optimism of Aster’s _If I was different._

The little yellow car rolls to a stop in front of Ellie’s house, and Ellie grabs her backpack hesitantly. She’s halfway out of the car when Aster says, “I meant what I said.”

“So did I,” Ellie says.

And then Aster breaks out into the biggest smile ever, and she almost laughs, and Ellie can see it bubbling in the back of her chest, and she says, “I’m going to San Francisco,” as if it’s a promise and a declaration and a holy sense of relief all at the same time. 

Ellie grins. “Oh, yes you are.”

“You’re going to Iowa,” Aster says.

Ellie’s smile fades slightly. “Yes, I am.” Aster chews on her lower lip like she doesn’t know what to say, until Ellie gently reminds her, “You are your own great painting.”

The corner of Aster’s mouth turns up into a half-smile. “I’ll send you a postcard when I get there.”

“And I’ll come visit,” Ellie says. “In a couple of years.”

“A couple of years,” Aster repeats. She nods. 

Ellie watches her drive off. For the past couple days, some part of her was always just so distraught over the fact that the whole thing was going to have to come to an end, but as her eyes linger on the shadow of Aster’s car, she smiles.

It’s not the end. It’s the beginning.

As she lies in bed that night, allowing the moonlight to stream in through the window, her lips tingle with the searing remnants of a kiss she didn’t give.

She wanted to, of course, and some part of her thinks Aster was maybe asking for it. The truth is, Ellie wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for the situation or whatever, and another part of her knows that if she wasn’t sure, then it couldn’t have been right. She wants it to be right. She wants it to be perfect. And she wants Aster to want it too. 

But it’s okay. She has time to figure it out.

She has a couple years.

**Author's Note:**

> quinnfebrey on tumblr. come chat!


End file.
